


Crown of Love

by dirtdove



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: BAMF Katara, Belligerent Sexual Tension, F/M, softzukofeels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-01-26 17:09:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21377587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtdove/pseuds/dirtdove
Summary: Katara smiled at him weakly.“I made you a promise, once, and I never made good on it."“Okay,” Zuko acquiesced. Her face shot up, the white of her smile bright in the darkness of the room. "But only because it's a good challenge for you, Master Waterbender."---Katara heals Zuko's scar, but sometimes, a gift is also a curse.
Relationships: Katara & Zuko (Avatar), Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 198





	Crown of Love

_Crash_. 

An ornate vase, delicately brushed in sparkling gold, lay splintered across the stone floor. Eyes widened for a moment before a meek, stuttering apology was emitted, then cajoles and laughter erupted in the air. 

The palace, erstwhile full of pleasantries and awkward formal dancing, had devolved into drunken senselessness by nightfall. The Fire Lord was desperate for a moment of peace. They may have been dressed in fine, emerald silks, but Zuko found that the children of wealthy entities were wont to mischief while their power hungry, aging parents were away.

Slowly, he disentangled himself from the throng of future diplomats, until his sleeve caught on something, yanking him back into the crowd. Turning, Zuko found a girl not two years younger than himself. Her sky-blue eyes paused him for a moment, then his heart stuttered awake again. Her hand dropped from his sleeve, brown cheeks dusted red. 

"Fire Lord, if I might be so bold, would you care to dance?" 

Zuko coughed an uncomfortable, hollow cough, then glanced at her bare neck. 

"I apologize, you'll have to forgive me." He bowed slightly with a tilt at his hips. "I'm-I'm feeling unwell."

Her face dropped into a pout. The rich were not accustomed to being denied the things they wanted, but even so, her disappointment twisted his stomach with guilt. 

He searched his memories of the Water Tribe diplomats, trying to think of her name, only to fall short. He was worn from the day; his soles were raw with exertion and the upturn of his cheeks ached from overuse. He smiled anyway at the girl, if only to soften the blow.

The Fire Lord cleared his throat. "But, surely another time?"

Her cheeks blushed brighter, at which Zuko wished to smack his own forehead. 

"I would be so honored if you could consider it!" She bowed deeply, her clothes rumpling at her waist. 

"Please—ah-please, no need for that!" He grasped at her shoulder, awkwardly tried to pull her out of the bow. "But yes, definitely next time."

Glancing above the girl, he caught another pair of blue eyes. These ones were piercing ice instead of tepid puddles; the eyes he'd been avoiding for days, and hoped he only imagined the angry frown and furrowed brow that accompanied them. 

Zuko hurried to the perimeter of the hall, the jagged edges of stone wall biting lightly into the palms of his hands. Grabbing at the first handle he could find, he allowed the darkness to swallow him, quieting the din of the celebration as he closed the door behind him. In one palm a glowing ember cast deep shadows along a grey stairwell while the other trailed the wall as he slowly descended into the cellar.

The damp room the young Lord found himself in was dusted in cobwebs and mildew, and dark save for the single sconce he was thankful to be able to light himself. Next to him were rows of shelves, cradling books and scrolls detailing the doctored history of Ba Sing Se. Those pages held the last remnants of a bygone time; a time before peace and of a city built on lies. After the combination of the changing times and increasing transparency, Zuko deduced it was more like a junk closet full of musty rubbish to be tossed than an accurate portrayal of the Earth Kingdom. The throng of rowdy attendees at the Earth King’s palace shook the wooden door up the stairs, unnerving Zuko.

He had been worn at the edges while in the company of so many expectant and judgmental eyes. As the Fire Lord, what little time he could spend on himself was a precious resource. He sat at the wooden table that was pushed against the wall, noticing a commoner's tea set. The clay cups were chipped and hairline cracks splintered over surface, but they could still be of use. He pressed his thumb into a nick, the sharp edge pressing threateningly against his skin.

Zuko pulled a tin from his tunic. He shook a small amount of black powder into the broken cup, the faintest scent perfumed from the broken leaves. Shaking the kettle, he was thankful to sense there was still water left. Zuko lit the small burner with a flick of dry fingertips, setting the vessel to boil. 

Years ago, when he was fifteen or sixteen, he never imagined he might miss the journey he’d spent with dust-lined pockets: prideful of the rags on his back, and without a claim to even his own name. Playing with broken pieces of clay, his thoughts were seeds in the wind as he recalled his first extended stay in the Earth Kingdom; the sour ostrich-horse feed weighing him down, the coppery blood in his mouth, the sores that wore his soles raw; blood stained rags hastily scrubbed in turbulent rivers, a gap-toothed child without a brother; a desert, a war, a mistake. 

Well, many mistakes. 

The kettle sounded with a high whistle. He'd let the pot run too hot; the tea would scald, should he pour the boiling water. Uncle would scold him if he'd seen this disrespect to the craft, the old General was surely turning over in the Spirit World with grief.

_Uncle_.

It wasn’t until Uncle passed that Zuko finally learned the meditative properties of tea. Each sip brought new clarity. The body of flavor was delicate and easily disturbed; a balance necessary, as in all things. That was the lesson Iroh had intended to pass onto him, Zuko realized. If only he’d figured it out sooner.  He barely grasped at the tools of balance, and Zuko's return to Ba Sing Se only emphasized that to him. The ancient city morphed and undulated, shifting into a shape he couldn’t recognize.

The curtain behind him clacked, the sound of glass beads against soft wood like rain hitting pavement. In the parted doorway stood one of the Fire Lord’s oldest friends. Her eyes, bright and blue and careful, darted over Zuko’s impromptu ceremony.

“Have tea enough for two?”

“Sure, Katara.” She pulled out a seat for herself while he searched for the least-abused cup. The young water master was adorned in fine Earth-Kingdom-green silks, face painted in the fashion of Ba Sing Se, the intricate beads of her hair delightfully jingling when her head tipped.

Her mouth was tight but turned up politely. Zuko wondered if the look Katara had on was the same one he'd given that _other_ Water Tribe girl.

“If I’m interrupting, I can go.”

He shook his head. "If there’s anyone I want to awkwardly hide in a subterranean closet with, it’s you.”

Between the way her lips stretched more genuinely, and the curiosity dancing behind her eyes, something in him twisted. They said all wounds healed with time, but this one hadn’t. Zuko was suspicious that it might never.

“Thanks." Her mouth twitched at his attempt at a joke. "It’s getting rough in the party. I really needed a break."

"It must be hard to readjust to snob-society." 

She watched him place a hand outside the kettle, his palms judging the water's temperature. Katara shrugged in disagreement.

"Once you meet one spoiled know-it-all power hungry jerk, you've met them all."

He handed her the tea, their pinkies brushing lightly, sending a jolt through him. Jasmine wafted from his own cup, delicate and sweet.

Katara gently sipped her tea, her eyes peering at him from over the lip of the cup. “You’ve stepped up your brew-game. Iroh would be proud.”

Zuko quirked at hearing his uncle’s name said aloud. He nodded in agreement. In Katara’s mouth, Iroh's name was like a spell that could conjure the old man, that by invoking his presence, Iroh might one day walk into the palace as a jubilant leader with a son and a wife and a throne. After all, the only circumstance that would have made any difference, _was_ Katara. 

His fingers fiddled with the chipped remnants of clay, the pointed edges pressing into his hands.

Zuko cleared his throat. "Thanks, Katara.”

She watched him carefully, like he might break. “We all miss him. He was a great man.”

From anyone else, the pity would have been too much to bear. 

“It’s good to hear that from you.” His voice faltered, “It’s like no one remembers him.”

He didn’t know why he admitted that to her. Katara's presence always made words roll seamlessly out, words he wished he could choke on instead. She reached over the table to hold his hand, her touch tightening something in his chest.

“I think he’ll be missed more than you think.” Her voice was as soothing as her element. His mind wandered to the way ocean laps at the Ember Island shore. She squeezed his hand where they touched. "I'm sorry I couldn't be there,—"

And it started again, the same way they fought the last time he'd seen Katara in person.

_____

_The sun glinted off their sweat-slick skin in the mid-afternoon light. The halo of fire blew out from Zuko's palms._

_"There's nothing to be sorry for, don't apologize."_

_Katara's water-whips slashed fiercely into the dirt. "But maybe if I had been there, I could have—"_

_"There was nothing you could do." Unafraid of a master surrounded by her element, Zuko closed the distance between them. _

_"I could have done _something_. Even if all I did was ease the pain. He was so young."_

_The mud squelched uncomfortably under his feet. "It's normal to pass away in your seventies."_

_ "Not for a bender. Not for a member of the white lotus. Not for a man like him." _

_Katara's hands were tight fists at her sides._

_"If I could take back every mistake I made at sixteen—I would, okay! But this—but how could I have known—" _

_Water fell to the earth with an unceremonious slap. "I'm not blaming you, we were both just kids then." _

_Zuko wasn't sure when her arms had woven around his waist; he was paralyzed, afraid that even an incorrectly placed breath would bring them ruin._

_"Even Azula was a kid, then," he whispered into her hair._

_Katara paused."Yes, even her."_

_"He never even told me—I had no clue how much pain he was enduring." _

_Her face pressed against his chest, her breath tickling his bare skin, "I'm just happy I was there when it happened to you."_

_"Me too." Even far away from the ocean, her hair smelled like salt water._

_"And you still have the scars to prove it."_

_And then the door to the Air Temple slides open, and Katara bounces back as though scalded by a flame, and Zuko grabs a rag before greeting the young Avatar._

_______

He sighed deeply at the table, intertwining their fingers. "He loved you like his own, you know. Anyway, he would not want you to delay the ceremony for—"

Katara scoffed, to which Zuko whipped his face to hers, craning his body closer to hear her mumble, "It isn't a big deal. Just because he's the damn _Avatar_."

She finished her drink and coughed awkwardly. His face heated up as Zuko recognized he'd crossed the unnamed boundary they'd set. He let go of her hand, and Katara set her cup back, then he poured her another while she folded her hands piously in her lap.

“Speaking of which, I wanted to know something.” Her words trembled only enough for Zuko to notice something was amiss. “I hear you’ve been unlucky with your prospective marriage arrangements. Do you need some advice?”

“_Oh_,” he laughed all the tension out of his stiff shoulders. “I thought you’d say something serious.” Katara squinted, nose flared slightly, searching his face with scrutiny. In the short distance across the table, he could see how the Earth Kingdom paint wrinkled on her skin, especially where her brow furrowed with agitation. He finally admitted to himself, Katara _did_ look equally beautiful in all her forms, whether caked in make-up or caked in mud.

“Well, you’re twenty-six now. It’s kind of a hot topic behind closed doors," she quipped.

He grunted dismissively. “Some men don’t take wives until they’re like, old enough to be the girl’s dad.”

Her face contorted sourly. “That’s super creepy, Zuko.”

He bit down on his lip, a smirk threatening at the sound of her saying his name. He half-shrugged, “Men peak later in life.”

Through a snort she jabbed, “Since when? It’s _women_ who age like fine wine.”

“What about the ones that end up as old crones?” He lifted the kettle slightly, relighting the kindling under the pot. She turned her head.

“Maybe they were jilted after the Fire Lord spurned their affections.”

Zuko rolled his eyes, preparing for the fight brewing in her. “I have been a complete gentleman. Don’t I have a right to choose who I court with?”

Katara glared darkly at him, his heart racing in response. “You might get less of a say if you treat everyone the way you did _Hosako_!”

His eyes widened, mouth agape. “The Northern Water Tribe noblewoman?” Katara nodded resolutely, her eyes as sharp as the ice-daggers she shapes so well. Her face twisted in disgust when he chuckled.

“This isn’t funny!” Zuko only laughed more fitfully at her admonition. He folded his arms to match Katara.

“It _would_ be, if you knew the whole story.” He was indignant, knowing that if Hosako was spreading rumors about what transpired, the whispers of courtiers would become a serious issue.

“I think I know enough!” Zuko imagined that if she were a firebender, smoke would steam out of her mouth.

“What did she tell you? There are two sides to every story.” He couldn’t stop the upturn of his lips when she huffed. He reveled in the rare occasion he could tease her. Zuko knew she wasn’t good at taking jokes at her own expense, especially when she was in the mood to be Stern Mother Katara.

“She told me how she fell in love with you after seeing you officially coronated when you were eighteen—”

“Spare me!” Zuko interrupted, aghast, “She was only twelve when I was coronated! We didn’t even speak for more than a simple introduction—”

“You spoke enough for her to fall in love! And after harboring these feelings all this time, against her parents wishes, knowing they were ready to have her betrothed to some—some—spoiled imbecile—”

“Kadoka is actually a very decent choice for her,” Zuko pondered at the ceiling thoughtfully, “and funny too, he reminds me a bit of—”

“Stop interrupting!" Katara exclaimed with exasperation. "Hosako _throws_ herself at your feet, begging you to take her even into a one-sided courtship, because she would do _anything_ if you would just consider it, and you laugh at her! And you told her to go back to the Northern Water Tribe and that she has no place on the throne next to yours! Of all the pompous _jerkbenders_ from that whole elitist nation, you were the _last_ person I would think could drag someone to that level.” Katara's whole body shook with each breath, her lungs desperate to suck in all the air she could in spite of her tight qipao. “If anything, _she_ was doing _you_ a favor.”

“A _favor_?” Zuko scoffed offendedly in the pause of her tirade. 

Katara looked like she was a breath away from flipping the table. “Yes, a _favor_, because who would want to marry someone as crass and mean and bull-pigheaded as _you_!” She slammed her cup on the table with a resounding _crack_, water sloshing into the air before smacking back into the cup. “That’s why you don’t have a wife.”

“That isn’t why.”

“Then please, enlighten me as to why haven't you married yet?” Her voice was hoarse from exertion, her expression softening. "It's widely known you've been rejecting every offer you've had, which have been far and few."

He watched her thoughtfully, decidedly ignoring her question. “You won’t even let me explain my side?”

She turned her face away to stare at the wall, chest puffed, face scrunched with irritability. He took her silence as an invitation. “Okay, let's pretend that she really has had a crush on me since she was a _child_. And let’s ignore the fact that we both know Kadoka is a good man, and actually her age, and that they had been betrothed since before they were born.” In the moment he took to breathe she was already on his heels.

“You two aren’t even that different in age. And it’s _your_ opinion he’s a good man. What _is it_ with the wealthy and their betrothals?” She threw her hands up in exasperation. “Doesn’t anyone believe in true love?”

Zuko sighed, his contemplative look disarming her into silence. “Maybe they do, and they don’t act on it in time.” His eyes trailed over her painted face. Zuko knew she was pretty this way, but he desperately wanted to brush her skin directly; his empty hands burned at the thought of touching her cheek, her hair, her anything. Katara’s eyes widened before she broke the tension.

“I don’t _care_ about the status of Hosako’s betrothal." She breathed slowly, calming herself. "What happened between you two?”

“She cornered me a few hours ago in the party. She asked me to dance, so we did. But she said some unsavory...stuff.”

Katara waited for him to continue, and when he didn’t, she egged him on. “Well? What did she say?”

He slumped backwards into his seat to glare at the ceiling sourly. “Stuff I didn’t like.”

“Like what,” she prodded, “What was so bad you told her to never seek you out again?”

“Bad stuff.” Zuko's nails dug into the flesh of his palms.

When Katara looked prepared to sling the remnants of her tea cup at him, he spoke again. “She said she’d had feelings for me since she first saw me, and asked, if I was not I looking for a Fire Lady anyways?” His voice trailed off, but before Katara could nag him again, he continued, “I mentioned her betrothal, and she said she would break it for me.”

Defiant tears welled in Katara’s eyes. She absentmindedly rubbed her cheek of them, forgetting her make-up. The white paint smeared away, the brown of her skin showing through like a brush stroke of color. Her lip trembled, “She’s very brave for admitting that. There are people who would rather journey to the other side of the world than face a forced marriage.”

Zuko knew her well enough to know who Katara meant. He sighed with humility, seeing more clearly what had angered Katara so.

“I told her that I was sorry because I wasn’t interested, and that I’m sure there were plenty of guys that would court her.” Katara watched his Adam’s apple bob, her lips parted slightly. “She took it the wrong way.”

Her brows knitted in confusion. “What kind of way?”

He looked away, his eyes hard on the spines of defunct Earth Kingdom history books. Katara kicked his inner calf lightly from under the table. He mulled over his words carefully. “She said that it was well known I had a thing for Water Tribe girls.”

He balked at Katara’s mirthful cackle. “Like you have a bizarre race kink or something? You’re as pious as they come. Nary an impure thought would ever grace _this_ Fire Lord.”

His lips tightened into a hard line. The teasing tone of her voice was enough to spin his mind in circles. Katara was smart, but she never knew where to place herself in the political arena, nor romantic one. With the pace of the war, Zuko never had the opportunity to prove to Katara how _un-pious_ he could be. And now it was too late.

“Whatever,” he grumbled indifferently at the table, his thumb pressing splintered clay into crumbs. “I told her, I didn't have a preference for anyone. She said it was clear I do, but only for either benders or for sea scum peasants.”

The words felt like acid on his tongue. A shock of shame ran through him as he remembered the crush a young Fire Nation prince once had on a water bending commoner all those years ago. As a teenager, he was clumsy, and impatient, and didn’t know how to control his hormones. After the siege of the Northern Water Tribe, Zuko thought the crush was the lowest low he would ever hit; even at sixteen, he presumed the attraction would be fleeting, and that if it wasn’t, it was just more salt in the burn-wounds. At sixteen, he thought he could take any challenge that the spirits would fling at him; surely, he could handle it, because he had handled everything up to then. He could not have known it would be many years before he reached rock bottom.

“What…,” Katara watched him carefully, her usually expressive face suddenly blank and calculating. “What did you say to her.”

He grimaced, but went on with averted eyes, “That if she kept talking like that about my friends, I would find a peasant to marry just to spite her. But we were only halfway into the dance. She said she wouldn’t mind if I pretended she was—,” Zuko’s eyes flashed to Katara’s stony ones before flitting to the kettle between them, “if she was someone else. I told her she wasn’t helping her case. Then she asked if I planned on being more loyal to a peasant _concubine_ than to the future Fire Lady.”

Katara’s breath hitched, her hand snapping up to cover her mouth, as though she could eat the sound of her surprise. When she slowly pulled her hand away with embarrassment, her lip-paint smudged haphazardly on her face. He eyed the new shapes the gloss made around the slight part of her full mouth. He licked his own bottom lip, suddenly stinging. “So, you can see why I told her she was unwelcome in the Fire Nation.”

“That’s reasonable.” It might have been his imagination, but her voice sounded huskier.

“Reasonable enough to not court her?” He tried to lighten the mood.

“Right," Katara agreed with a cough, her fingers tight in her fist. "Just to confirm, you don’t have any other women who might be described as sea scum in your ring of advisors, right? No other waterbenders?”

“No.” He thought he was too old to get butterflies in his stomach, but Katara's cheeky grin proved him wrong.

“And we—you and I," her pointer darted between the two of them, "haven’t even _had_ sex,” Katara verified, as though he might argue, _yes_, _in fact we have,_ and be forced to believe him.

Under certain circumstances, whispers drowned out reason. _But in the end_, Zuko wondered, _can't friends, regardless of gender, spend an inordinate amount of time together? And die for each other, and love each other, and save each other's lives?_ Any casual observer who saw a connection between the two was surely based on hypothetical whim. Even Zuko must be fooling himself, if he had any illusion of a romantic connection with Katara. After all, during his whole two week excursion to Ba Sing Se, he'd only found the space to spend time alone with Katara in a mold lined storage closet under the Earth King's palace, amongst a hundred years of dishonesty.

“Not that I know of.” 

“Then your future wife won’t have a problem with the Fire Lord’s favorite Water Tribe ambassador sticking around.”

“Who said you’re my favorite!” He feigned surprise, to which the shape of her lips cracked into a lopsided grin. He finished lamely, “Just because you’re the _only_ waterbender counsel I have.”

Katara waved her hand flippantly. “I’m sure she was a terrible one-off experience. That doesn’t mean you have to stop looking.”

“There’s no need to rush,” Zuko muttered. He’d meant, _there’s no need to rush this talk_.

“There’s a reason I thought it was your fault.” She acknowledged adamantly. “A lot about you puts girls off. Besides, what kind of Fire Lord _isn’t_ using his power to find a girlfriend?”

He groaned painfully, “An uncorrupted one?”

“You could stand to try harder, with the facts as they are.” Her eyes trailed his face, his skin burning where her gaze touched him.

“You mean,” Zuko’s tea swished in his cup, his eyes cast down in disinterest, “I have to work harder because of the scar?”

“Haven’t you heard?” She wheedled, folding her arms across her chest, “beauty is only skin deep. But under your skin, you’re also ornery, and abrasive and obsessed with work.”

He shot her a dirty look, but his tone remained warm. “I had to fight tooth and nail to be fully recognized as Fire Lord, so I guess I _am_ a little obsessed with work—”

Katara interrupted, “We barely got to hang out this past week!”

“Don’t we see each other often enough with reparations meetings?” Zuko straightened his face, realizing he’d sunk back into his frown.

“No!” Southern Water Tribe Ambassador Katara huffed. “Sometimes I just want to be two friends instead of two politicians.”

“What’s the difference?” There was humor simmering in his voice but he was uneasy by Katara’s tensing body.

Her chin jutted confidently into the air. “I could help you find a wife. That’s what friends are for.”

"You?" It was his turn to scoff. “I thought it takes one to know one, and _you_ don’t know the first thing about being a wife.”

She gasped, affronted. His jovial smile returned at the sound of Katara’s fist hitting the table lightly. “Why would I be unfit to be a wife! I will make a great wife!”

He scanned the room as though he could find an answer in the stone grout and tattered scroll labels. “Well, I can give you credit for being a decent cook, and you can nag anyone to death—” She lightly kicked his shin under the table.

“That doesn’t sound much like a compliment!” Her pout tightened something in his chest again, like a spring coiling indefinitely.

"Don't worry, it isn't." The Fire Lord ignored her protest, “You’re pretty inflexible, for a waterbender. You’re so stubborn and stern and—what was the word you used? Hornery?”

She gasped, her gaze flicking from the white of his teeth back to his eyes, “If you don't stop bullying me, I'll have to return the favor. I could make you feel really bad, if I wanted to!”

He rolled his eyes, leaning across tiny square table to rest his weight on his forearms.

“No one can make me feel worse than I make myself feel.”

“You would be happy with a wife, if you could let someone in.” Katara’s playful edge had dulled. Guilt sunk into his gut like a blade, because his macabre humor always pushed her too far. His face grew hot as her hand grazed his scarred cheek. "Zuko..."

Hearing his name in her mouth sent his heart racing. He wished he could memorize the way she said it, how her southern accent curled it, the way her lips moved when forming the sound. He tilted his head closer to hers. In the moments like these, he could forget the rumors surrounding their friendship. When it came down to the wire, they would always have each other. When Katara needed to confide in someone, and when Zuko needed counsel, they balanced each other with honesty and respect, insomuch as they could afford. Katara cared for Zuko, the man, not Zuko the Fire Lord. So, he owed her the chance to meet her in the middle.

“Okay. You’ve got me curious." He matched his words to the whisper of her volume. "What _are_ they saying? Other than that one girl.” She looked down at the table, eyes fixed on her cup, the half-finished tea tilted oddly.

“Some women...some were saying cruel things about your scar.” She glared when he chuckled again. “If you had a more agreeable personality, they could at least say you’re charming. But they can’t even do that, because it's like you make yourself more unlikable on purpose.”

He shrugged. Zuko traced the outline of her fingers before interlocking them with his loosely, keeping his head bowed toward the table. To the shape of their hands, he suggested, “Maybe I just am dislikable. It might not be any deeper than that.”

He took a rag, dampening it with warm water from the kettle. He gently raised it to her face, watching for any sign of rejection, before he dabbed the right side of her cheek, removing her paint. She watched him with her left eye while he worked on the right side of her face.

“You just aren’t a friendly first date.”

“Yeah, but you forgot, I’m an _ugly_, unfriendly first date.”

“You definitely are _not_ ugly,” she protested. The white paint slowly faded away, revealing the rich, warm tone of her skin.

He held her chin lightly, turning her face from side to side. “We match now.”

She contemplatively touched the clean side of her face. “What if…” Katara took the towel from him, making quick work of the remaining make-up, a conspiratorial look simmering in her eyes. “What if we matched now, too.”

He _hmmed_ in a questioning tone at her while he absentmindedly rubbed his thumb into a smudge she’d missed, his skin tingling where it touched hers. When he didn’t respond, she continued, “If it works, you and your future wife can consider it a wedding present?”

“If what works?” He watched her cautiously. “What kind of wedding present?”

“Let me heal the scar.” Butterflies erupted once more in his stomach. He reigned in his racing thoughts.

“Why?”

Katara smiled at him weakly.

“I made you a promise, once, and I never made good on it." She tried to admonish the somberness lingering on her. "Besides, I'm sure the ladies wouldn't mind?”

He sighed.

_Scars don’t heal_.

He didn’t have to say it to her. He sipped his long forgotten tea contemplatively. She broke in again, her voice pitched higher still, “If you don’t want me to, I understand. It might not work, anyway. But it wouldn’t hurt to try?” Chills went up his spine when his eyes met hers; the feel of their palms touching made his mind buzz. The green of the tapestries suddenly reminded him of the crystal cavern beneath their feet.

“You don’t think we’re passed that?”

“I don’t know, at this point it’s mostly cosmetic. Regaining more of your vision might do you some good.” He frowned, realizing she didn’t understand what he really meant. “And, I can’t know for sure how well it will heal. But if it does work out, it's on the house.” She winked with a wide smile. Her confidence cast a shadow of doubt on his mind. It'd been so long since he'd given himself the luxury to wonder what he'd look like without the scar. He felt guilty again when her eyes dropped. She pulled at his hand on the table, staring down at his fingers. “I just want to give this to you.”

The air was thick and heady, her brown hand cool in his pale one. He liked the way she stuck out severely in the crowds at the Earth King’s palace. The emerald silks pulled out the warmth of her tone, paling her skin and forcing her blue eyes to shine brighter, like glacial ice dancing in the summer sun. He pushed away the dusky curls that fell in a curtain around her face. The memory of her hand on his cheek sent a shiver down his back, and he wondered if he'd looked as vulnerable to her then as she did to him now.

“Okay,” Zuko acquiesced. Her face shot up, the white of her smile bright in the darkness of the room. "But only because it's a good challenge for you, Master Waterbender."

“Aren't you leaving soon? When will you have time?”

He sighed, complacent. The ardent determination she exuded was impossible to deny.

“Now?” Partially, he hoped he’d thrown her for a loop and she would forget. Instead, she pulled at the front of her dress, tugging out a blue vile that hung around her neck.

Her voice was nothing above a murmur. “Now, then.”

“Okay,” he repeated. He expelled a long breath, leaning his head against the wall. The scent of the jasmine tea seemed to linger in the air, making his head light.

“I just have to—,” Katara passed over the table with a trembling hand until she found his hair pin. She dragged her chair close to his, their knees brushing against each other. She reached above his brow, her fingers carding through his long hair, gathering it in a ponytail except for the few strands fell loose, framing his pale face. Katara pushed them back over his scalp to no avail, her hands ghosting over his forehead gingerly, as if he had paper skin. Her shaky breath fanned over him, so similar to the last time they were alone in Ba Sing Se. When they were young, the air in the crystal catacomb was raw, and tense, and tasted like the precipice of change.

Above them, the crowd was celebrating a decade without war.

This Ba Sing Se was not the Ba Sing Se that was seared into their memories, and like the changing city, peace altered the space between Katara and Zuko as well. Each bitter choice guided their steps onto a further diverging path, yet they had not allowed the twisting of fate to wrench them apart. With as much innocence of childhood friendship, Katara needed Zuko's counsel as much as he needed hers. Their lives were entrusted in one another, entwined in a manner that Zuko could only call _honor-bound_, and what Katara called _choice_. Whether it was fate or not, he'd been avoiding her this whole trip, because she had made her choice, so he was satisfied if what laid between them was enough. Their relationship, as it was, was enough. Time had dulled the urgency and hormonal maelstrom Zuko was at sixteen, but his affection for her persisted despite the stability of peace. No, peace had only worsened it, because whatever it was he felt for her, it burned more brightly with each passing season. 

He was so tempted to tip his head to her, to pull her in, to shatter everything they'd worked towards.

Zuko trained his gaze on the swinging vile hanging from her neck. His mind flashed to the way his Blue Spirit mask had at one time hung from him. The questions plagued Zuko. Would things have been different, if he had given her mother's necklace back the first time? If he'd let her heal Uncle? If once she'd healed him, and she'd offered the first of many last chances—what if he had chosen Katara?

He opened his eyes when Katara cupped his cheek in her hand, her thumb rubbing over the scar. Her ephemeral touch made her seem more spirit than human to Zuko. A sense of futility overcame him, Zuko was desperate to know this was real. He grabbed her wrist. She watched him thoughtfully but amusedly. Before she could respond, Zuko held her hand in his, pressing into the center of her palm. He moved his thumb, then pressed a firm kiss where his finger had been. He glanced back up at her. Her mouth was parted, her eyes lidded, something unknown lurking there.

“For good luck,” he explained, weakly. She nodded, as though it were a good enough answer.

Katara drew the spirit-blessed water out of the pendant; it was just enough to cover the palm of her right hand. Zuko wondered vaguely what her ancestors would think if they knew she'd waste their treasure, simple pond water made precious by the touch of the gods, on him; Zuko, a Fire Lord, the descendant of the genocidal maniacs who effectively destroyed her culture, a cursed and dark star who was lucky to even be born.

He closed his eyes, as though he could sleep the experience away. He dreaded to know she could sense the shallowness of his breath and tried to ignore the anxiety swirling in his gut. Zuko welcomed her cool touch and leaned into her hand. It didn’t feel like any of the other times Katara healed him. It was a soft, pulling sensation, as though she could draw out the dirt from every nook and cranny of his past. She gently plucked at each vessel, feeling each individual strands of muscle in his face twitch in her hand. The stinging reverberation of muscle was cool, and prickling, and it was hers, so he could never deny her touch.

Part of him was curious if this, too, were a part of energy bending? In a worst case scenario, Katara would be burdened with his pains now. The thought made his heart beat erratically, anchoring him to his chair. He’d already caused enough pain in her life. Partly, believed his soul had already cleaved with hers. For better, or for worse, he did not know. If she carried the weight he had bore all this time, it would surely poison her.

Katara leaned down to sit on his lap. He peeped his good eye open, watching how her arms had turned gooseflesh. He rested his hands above her hips, to which she shivered on his lap, but she continued her work on him. Her cool, glowing palm migrated to his ear, at which he leaned into her touch with a sigh. She was close enough that he could almost hear the rhythm in her chest and feel her breath on his face. Katara shifted her weight so she faced him properly to get a better angle, her left leg dangling above the floor and her right shin bent across his lap. He dragged her closer to keep her steady. She rested a hand on his neck, to balance herself, he figured. He caught the way her eyes flitted down to his mouth and then to the places their bodies almost touched. 

Katara had lost all the baby fat of childhood, revealing high cheek bones, an angled chin, and the confidence of adulthood. He’d always thought she was beautiful, but at twenty-five, she had fully blossomed. Her quips had sharpened as much as her curves had rounded out. An intimidating girl before, she was more so as a woman. Her tenacity and resilience only became stronger with time. He loved it. He loved that she was willing to put up a fight with the other diplomats, if she disagreed with them. She was still quick to judge others but only for how protective she was of those dear to her. Katara could be wise when she wanted to be, outsmarting the career-politicians when they thought they could worm her into a bad deal. He loved most of all, that despite her boardroom talk and strict convictions, she was unendingly gentle and compassionate.

His eyes snapped open when her touch disappeared. Two salty trails meandered down her cheeks. He wiped away the tears, memorizing the way her skin felt under his palms, the curve of her cheek, this deep intimacy that surely, no one else in the world could ever experience.

“Katara, what’s wrong,” he whispered. She ignored him.

“How do you feel?”

“Actually,” his brows furrowed in confusion, “I can kind of see better? It’s a bit hard to tell in the dark.”

Her hand brushed against his cheek again. Instead of the numb pressure he expected, his skin tickled under her touch. He flushed and sat back, not realizing he'd been leaning into her. He palmed his face, marveling at the smoothness. Katara wiped at her eyes, immobile and flushed.

Zuko smiled, “Am I even more of an ogre now than before?”

“No way, you’re hot.” She laughed at however his expression contorted. “Do that face again,” she requested gleefully.

“What face?” He wondered, confused. Katara threw her arms around his neck, squeezing his body into hers. It didn’t feel like a hug as much as it felt like a prayer.

She spoke into his shoulder, “I guess you’ll just have to see for yourself.” She let off, looking around the room, the void of her missing weight cold. “Oh, here…” Katara pulled off the kettle lid, pulling out what little water remained. With a gliding hand, she deftly froze it into a circle. "It isn't as good as a mirror I guess, but we learn to make do, right?"

Katara handed him the ice disk, his hands numbed where the edges bit coldly into his palms. He tentatively brought it up to his face. He grabbed at his chin tightly, turning his face to watch his reflection, astonished to see the two sides of his face mirroring each other. When he was young, he’d do the same motion in private, wishing that when his face turned, he’d be miraculously healed.

“So now I have to learn how to live with one eyebrow. I think I can deal with that,” waggling the brow as he talked. Katara exhaled half a laugh before holding his face in her hands, a knowing grin twisting something in his chest.

“I think it should grow back. The girls will be at your beck and call.”

“I’m thankful, Katara.” He’d been patient enough. Wary-Zuko reared his head. “But is that really what it’s about? I can choose a wife when I want to.” He was resolute.

Her mouth puckered like his words were sour, “Zuko, the Sages want you to have an heir. You aren’t like the previous Fire Lords. You saved the world.”

“Katara, _you_ saved the world,” he contested, his hands tight around her wrists, “I would die a _hundred_ times, if you would do it again. It will be ten years ago this summer, but it is as though it just happened.” His breathing was erratic, his eyes wild while taking in all of her, in case she turned and never looked back at him. Zuko waited for that moment every time they met; the day she would rebuke the part of his soul that tainted hers.

“It's like that for me, too. As though it just happened.” The words were tilted in Katara’s mouth, her hand burned where it touched above his chest. “You don't even know how it effected me. But you can’t go on living in the past.”

“You took away the scar from my face.” Zuko pushed his seat back gruffly, the wood creaking against the stone floor. He tore at the ties holding his tunic together until his chest was revealed to her. “What about _this_ one? The scar I have to remember that fight every day. The scar I have to remind a nameless wife that the Fire Lord owes his life, his throne, his _future_, to a woman from the Southern Water Tribe? Yeah, I could move on from the past, if I didn’t have to carry it.” His breath trembled and he fell back into his seat with a _thud_, not once taking his eyes from hers. "What do you think people say about a Lord who nearly sacrificed himself, sacrificed world peace, for _you_?"

Katara unfolded her arms from her chest and walked to him calmly until her feet were between his. He pushed the hair back from his face, suddenly embarrassed at his outburst. It had been years since he had allowed his emotions to direct him so foolishly, let alone to be so ungrateful for an invaluable gift from a dear friend.

"I'm sorry—," he sputtered, clumsily searching for his footing, "—I didn't mean—I just—"

Katara pulled at the neckline of the qipao—_reaching__ for the vile? No—_and loosened the ties of her dress. Zuko's mouth went dry.

There were no words left to tell her, _no, stop, please, love_.

“No, Zuko, you're right that you have to carry the weight of your scar forever. It wasn’t fair that only you were marked by something that touched us both,” she admitted. Her silk dress came apart in her hands, falling down the center. “But I took that into my own hands. I shaped my own destiny.” He grabbed her waist roughly, pulling her within inches of his nose. His hot breath fanned over her stomach as his thumbs pressed the tender skin under her ribs. In the center of her body lay three simple, dotted circles. Zuko recognized it immediately; it was a black sunburst, the dark ink stained her skin into a pattern corresponding his own mark.

“Why,” he begged, the tears silently welling. He searched her face for an answer, but the nameless emotion there eluded him. Her hand passed over the tattoo.

"Do you know that my people—before my culture was taken from the world—that we told stories through our skin? It was a rite. The way the moon waxes and wanes, a woman also passes through the cycles of life. In the time before the raids, if she was brave enough to prove her mettle, she'd have her story sewn into her, a piece at a time."

Confusion and guilt twisted deeply in his gut. His remaining scar burned while his thumbs ran more gently against the tattoo. "What does this story say?"

She smoothed her hands over his chest, pressing into his now lone scar. Her breath hitched when his fingertips grazed just underneath her breasts before trailing back to the inky print under her ribs.

"We were so young, ten years ago." Like water, she meandered through the path of least resistance. 

"Yeah," Zuko's brow furrowed. "I made a lot of mistakes."

"You weren't the only one." Her hands trailed lightly past his scar, down his abs, his skin prickling where her touch brushed him. "When I was fourteen, everything was obvious. My future seemed clear. And then you took a bolt of lightening to the chest for me."

Zuko swallowed hard, searching for the right words.

Katara continued, "I didn't know what to think, at first. It isn't that I _didn't_ think about it. But the more time passed and the farther you drifted from me, the more I wondered if I had made the wrong choice." 

Zuko cleared his throat. "There aren't any wrong choices. Please, don't regret anything. I don't. I just want you to be happy." 

"Even if it costs you your own happiness?"

"I'm fine." Zuko reached to cup her face, his fingers trembling. Of course even in a moment like this, Katara had not put herself first. "It's okay to want something for _yourself_ sometimes."

Katara made a bitter noise, something between a cough and a laugh. 

“When we held the tattoo ceremony,” she continued in a whisper, “There was a lot that weighed on my mind. It took three days to complete. The skin was raw for weeks afterwards. I knew, going into it, that it would be a long process. Even then, it didn't take long enough. I hoped I would leave the ritual with an answer. Instead, all I have is this tattoo. Maybe you have an answer for me."

Her forehead rolled against Zuko's. His voice echoed in his ears with strain. "An answer to what?"

"I wonder, is it too late for us?"

"Maybe it was always going to be too late for us." 

Her bitter chuckle filled the cellar.

She continued, "Part of me hoped that if it could hurt enough, maybe the ache could carry on to the next life.”

She sat in his lap, facing Zuko, the qipao falling around her elbows. The hand that healed his face was pressed not on his scar but on the skin above his heart. He wasn't a fool; he knew Katara could feel each quickening beat, the erratic pulse of his blood running through him.

He held the back of her neck, touching where Aang’s betrothal necklace wasn’t. Katara slowly trailed her fingers down his arms, his body trembling under her touch.

“I'm happy _now_, Katara." His voice croaked, his grip tightening on her skin, attempting to keep her hips a safe distance away. "Things are good _now_, in the living world.”

Katara pressed herself closer. Her face sunk into his shoulder, the flit of her lashes tickling his newly clear flesh. She breathed a hot sigh over his healed ear, at which he grabbed her hips more tightly.

"Didn't you want me, at one time?"

"Didn't you pick someone else?"

"I might have picked poorly," she mused, her hands lighting the heat in his stomach. Her lips brushed lightly against his ear, "Maybe you could show me what I'm missing?"

Before he could respond, his words stuck in his throat, as her nose trailed along his jaw. Despite himself, his hands meandered over the soft skin of her hips, resting at her waist.

She tightened her grip in his hair and her body shook with each breath. She murmured an expletive, almost to herself, then more audibly, “Those women are so _stupid_.”

“It isn’t like you to say something like that.” He quirked an eye at her, his warm fingers passed up her back with curiosity, to which she emitted a low, pleased hum at his touch.

He shuddered as her hands dipped inside his tunic, her fingers running along his back, the swell of her breasts pressed against his bare chest.

“I'm not as full of forgiveness as _some_ people, you most of all would know,” she breathed, her forehead resting on his with closed eyes. "Clearly some women don't appreciate a tease like you."

"_Me_?" Zuko scoffed. "A tease?"

"You know why people say that stuff. About me being a concubine. About you giving me too many favors."

He shrugged as an answer, too busy exploring the skin past her jawline, down to her clavicles. "Because we're best friends?"

She snickered. "No, it's because you look at me in _public_ the way you're looking at me _now_."

"Gossip is the last thing on my mind."

"But they got one thing right."

Zuko's mouth brushed against the skin of her neck. "What's that?"

"I'm not your concubine, _Fire Lord_, but I must be something akin to it." Before he could process her words, Katara's hips rolled to meet his.

"N-no, that isn't true," he protested. Katara's fingers wound in his hair, his arms tight around her as though she might slip away.

Everywhere Katara touched, his skin lit on fire; every soft curve of her pressed against every hard edge of him, every brush of her skin on his sunk his mind further away from logical thought.

"Could it be that you knew I wanted this, too? I know you've been avoiding me." 

"I haven't—I just—," his mouth can't form more words because his thoughts are swimming in her embrace, and all he can manage is _KataraKataraKatara_. 

"We looked just like this in that cave together, too."

"You still think about that time?"

In response, Katara brushed the freshly softened skin of his cheek, like she had all those years ago. His lips burned, desperate to touch hers.

His hands slid down her thighs, the supple flesh parting slowly for him. 

Katara gasped when he picked her up, her legs tightening around his waist, her hands clinging to his neck. He gently placed her on the tabletop, and she leaned back, her hands seeking purchase in turn sent a tea cup flying, clay pieces scattering on the floor. The confidence that suited her ice-blue eyes so well had melted away. With her mouth parted and palms digging into the table, forcing their hips closer to his than before, Katara seemed, for the first time in knowing her all these years, to be vulnerable. When Zuko gently persuaded her legs down so her feet dangled above the jagged cobblestone floor, something like fear flashed in her eyes.

"I thought you—I thought we—Zuko." Katara breathed so deeply and so solemnly that Zuko's own fragile heart splintered. "I didn't realize you didn't want me anymore. I'm...I'm sorry."

How could she ever think that, when he looks at her like she holds every star in place, like she pulls and releases the shadow of the moon, like she pushes and tugs the ocean wave?

Zuko cupped her face in his hands, before pressing his lips softly against her forehead. A forgotten smear of paint lingered on his lip, chalky and bitter.

"Of course—of course I want you. I want you to join me at summits. I want you to marry the person you love. I want you to be happy."

With hot and trembling fingers he hovered above her tattoo; where the ink laced a web through her, the skin was raised. Zuko picked at the silk of her dress, finicking at the places where the knots had once been tied, until Katara fixed the offending garment herself in annoyance. 

Her eyes were wet—_with regret? Remorse? Had Zuko betrayed her yet again? _Without a thought, his lips brushed at the salty drop before it could meander down the curve of her cheek.

"Katara." 

"Hmm?"

She pushed against his chest lightly, making room to pick up his formal robe, which lay unceremoniously puddled on the ground. He reached for it, until Katara swatted his hand away. She raised one arm of the robe and carefully pushed Zuko's hand through it. She must be a firebender, because every brush of her finger singed his skin as though she could sear new scars into him.

"I'm only going to mention it once. You were the first and last person to touch it."

Katara looked at him, looked _through_ him, her head leaning in slightly, before bringing the robe around his back, threading the knots of the silk cloth into place.

"Are you throwing a move on me?" She snorted. "You know you can hire _actual_ concubines, you don't _have_ to die a virg—"

Zuko's mouth was on Katara's, a firm, chaste press. Just as suddenly, he was an arm's length away.

"I'm ready to go back if you are. Will you come dance with me? "

Her eyes were wide, but she nodded, _yes_. Hand in hand, they stepped over splintered wares and into the light.

**Author's Note:**

> "If you still want me,  
please forgive me  
Because your hands  
are not upon me."
> 
> -Crown of Love / Arcade Fire
> 
> I tried to learn more about the Inuit practice of tattooing to more appropriately adapt it for this fic but I feel like there's more to explore there. I like leaving stories open ended but there might be too many unanswered questions. This fic just kept growing out of my control. If there's enough interest I might do a followup from Katara's perspective.


End file.
